


what nature does not make (man and woman shape)

by SearchingforSerendipity



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Lady of The North Sansa, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa, Willas and the things that grow in the glass garden of Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what nature does not make (man and woman shape)

Sunlight filters oddly from the thick glass, casting short shadows and bright reflections. It falls on the figure leaning over the camellias, turns brown curls to polished amber, burnt copper, whisps of almost but not quite sunflower-yellow falling on his forehead.

The door closes behind her and the warmth envelops her. It makes her itch under her fur cloak. The flowers are lovely, as always; freshly watered, she can tell by the heady smell. The snow in her hair evaporates in moments, leaves it damp and heavy.

The figure lifts his head, dimples. "Mamma!"

Sansa walks closer, leaves rustling in her wake. Ned smells of rose petals and dirt when she kisses his cheek. She breaths deeply.

"Have you been good to your lord father, sweeting?"

He nods against her cheek, smile against her smile. "Yes Mamma, look! Papa has been teaching me how to plant seeds."

"He has, has he?' She leans closer to the vases, one smaller than the other, both of them with the freshly moved look of inviting soil. She can't help but notice that the smaller one has much more dirt around it.

"Mm, we are planting roses. Summer roses! Papa says they should give flowers by the harvest feast, so we can make you flower crowns." He stops to consider, tilting his head. It makes him look like Margaery, like Garlan and the late Queen of Thorns. "I suppose the baby can have one too," he adds generously.

"That is very kind of you, Ned." Willas says. "He has been a most capable gardener's apprentice, my lady. One day he might even master the art of not tasting the seeds before sowing."

She had heard him come up behind them, because it is impossible not to hear his cane, and because he makes certain to make noise when coming close to her. Her considerate husband. She leans back against him. He noses her wet hair, cane leaning against her knee. There is dirt under his fingernails where they rest in her stretched stomach, staining her grey dress.

"That is good to know, my lord." _my love_. How pleasant tell it is to know she can say it at will and mean it. "We cannot have the Lord of Winterfell pecking crumbs little a fledgling." No little bird will be raised in Winterfell again. Neither Ned or any of his future siblings will ever be helpless as she was.Her son is a wolf and a rose, and she will make sure the world knows it. Will make sure he knows it, all the good and bad of his joined lineages. 

But not yet. Ned fidgets, too young to care for long hugs, especially with his mother's swollen tummy against him. Tugging at the orchid leafs is much more fun, and her chest stretches and crumples, watching him explore the beauties of the glass garden. The one she had had built, in the early days of her marriage, with glass from the Dornish Queen and her mummer husband. It was not far from this spot that Willas first told her of his love. Overthere, by the petunias, she kissed him for the first time, the second and third.

Her son lives a life of peace, where his parents can hug him any time he wants their company, where his aunts and uncles travel often and far with fabulous gifts and southern roses flourish in the North. Even if only behind glass, even if only behind built forests.

Willas' chest rises at the same rythm as hers. Inside her the babe rolls around, warm and safe and home.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by all of SecondStarOnTheLeft's marvelous Sansa/Willas stories.


End file.
